


bewitched, bothered & bewildered

by wildcard_47



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Don't Ask Francis Because He Doesn't Know, Late Night Conversations, Let's Use Better Euphemisms, M/M, Pre-Slash, What's The Best Way To Tell Your Bro You've Done Butt Stuff, awkward confessions, pining ahoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: Francis makes a late-night confession. James doesn't quite infer what he's implying.





	bewitched, bothered & bewildered

Even considering the time, the wardroom was so quiet James Fitzjames could actually _hear_ a watch ticking somewhere in the background. Perhaps it was stored in Francis’s coat, long ago discarded and hastily thrown over another chair, or hiding in the man’s waistcoat pocket.

Francis had been silent for so long, in fact, that James assumed the next words out of the _Terror_ Captain’s mouth would be _think we ought to retire for the night,_ or _we needn’t finish this until the morning_ or perhaps most optimistically, _shall I get us some coffee?_

Instead, James glanced over and saw Francis chewing on the inside of one cheek. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was pursed in the sort of forlorn expression that suggested he was brooding.

Normally, James might toss a biscuit at the man, or perhaps try to cheer him up through a whirlwind of utter distraction. But tonight that possibility seemed far out of reach, given that Francis’s pained expression was carved so starkly into his face.

Taking a deep breath, James made his decision. _Once more unto the breach._ “Francis?”

“What? I’m listening.” Francis startled, then flushed pink, glancing down at the papers scattered in front of him. He smeared a couple of sheets to the side with one hand before paging through two or three others, clearly unable to sell this ruse with any certainty. “You—sorry, I—?”

“Something more on your mind tonight?” James waited a beat, long enough for Francis to go still, and to meet his clear gaze. “You seem rather tired of inventory.”

Francis actually smiled at that, ducking his head with a rueful sigh before glancing back up at James. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well.” Although he kept his voice gentle, James bolted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Perhaps not to anyone unfamiliar with the signs. But I have seen that look on your face before. Within this very room, even. Not so long ago.”

Making a displeased noise, Francis reached for the metal teapot still sitting between them, and refilled his cup; it was stone cold, probably, but James assumed the man wanted something to do with his hands.

“Your Miss Cracroft again?” he asked Francis.

The _Terror_ Captain sighed, and stared down into his tea. “Yes.”

Given that they were preparing to walk out in no more than three months, it was only natural for any man to dwell on what he had already sacrificed. Or had been unable to sacrifice, in Francis’s case. Of course he would be thinking about her. Imagining what awaited him upon his return.

“She—” Francis was still staring down into his cup, his gloved hands cradling it like a child might cradle a baby bird. “Van Diemen’s Land was—a very strange time for me, obviously.”

“I had gathered that much, yes.”

“And with—I mean, all things considered, Sophia is not a—you know, the sort of—typical timid lady.”

“Francis, I highly doubt anyone would ever describe her as _timid_ , even her own relations.” James was nearly laughing now. “Polite in mixed company, perhaps. Cheerful. Observant. But not lacking in gumption. Never that.”

“Yes.” That rueful smile reappeared, as did the hint of a blush. “Well.”

James decided that this particular riddle could only be solved through direct conversation, as Francis was unusually reserved to-night. “I imagine there is a particular memory of her _in-timidity_ weighing on your mind at present?”

Francis’s fingertips curled even more tightly around the half-full china cup in his hand, pressing into the sides as if he were going to sculpt the piece anew, right there at the table.

James was still speaking. “Certainly you would not be the first to recall—”

“She made me a—a backgammon player.” Francis blurted out the words very quickly, eyes still fixed to the rim of his cup. His hands appeared to be shaking. “So.”

Judging by the speed at which he said it, and the tenseness in his limbs, this was a declaration of some import. The word ought to have been memorable. Striking, even.

Tragically, James had no god-damned idea what Francis meant by it.

“Backgammon,” he repeated, hoping this would illuminate any present deficiencies in his hearing, or perhaps jolt his mental faculties. No such luck. Francis merely nodded, once, but said no more. “And, ah, where did you have cause to—to play—”

“Governor’s mansion. Christ, James. Sir John and Lady Jane were upstairs. I came in through the kitchen, intending to drop off a bottle of brandy for another acquaintance.”

“And you encountered Miss Cracroft.”

“I didn’t know she was going to be there.” Finally—oh, good Lord, finally—Francis lifted his eyes and met James’s attentive gaze. “She told me she was going riding that morning, and at the time, I thought she meant we might see each other in passing as I left. Not that she would be _waiting_ for—or—or that she would _ever_ _dare_ to—to—”

Dare to what? Make some overture of interest? Defy Sir John’s express wishes?

“Francis, you needn’t berate yourself,” James said instead, desperately grasping at a reel in an attempt to take this conversation to clearer waters. “How could you have known the outcome at the time?”

“Of the two of us, I was the elder,” Francis insisted, very stiffly.

“And?”

“Ought to have kept my head.”

“Really, Francis. You _liked_ the woman. You care for her still! Granted, we officers of the ward do view ourselves as wholly devoted to our duties, and are perhaps even genuinely so at times, but even the most ardent man cannot exemplify politesse at all hours of the day.”

“Your view of—of— _backgammon_ —” Francis could hardly choke out the word, now “—is that it’s only— _impolite?_ ”

“Well, I imagine you did not play a round in front of Sir John and the entire local government, obviously.”

“No!” hissed Francis, now turning a blotchy red. “I—it was _private_. Between us.”

“Well, it—any private game between friends is just that.” James knew he was missing the final piece to this puzzle, though he could not for the life of him pin down why. With any other sailor, he might have made a rather blue joke and let his scoundrel’s laughter speak for itself. “I mean, it isn’t as if she….”

He trailed off, unable to conjure up any decent comparison.

Francis’s stare took on a desperate, rather beseeching quality, blue eyes wide in desperation. “Don’t, James.”

“Well, I’m only _saying,_ ” Fitzjames sputtered, although what, precisely, he was saying was very unclear, even to him. “You were—drawn to her, obviously. And I am sure she enjoyed your, er—amiable—”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Francis covered his face with both hands, then dragged both palms downwards, groaning softly before letting his hands fall back to their original position atop the table. “Let’s go back to the inventories. Please, James, I beg of you.”

“All right.” James held up two hands in surrender. “Of course.”

They had worked on their individual tallies for nearly twenty minutes more when the spark of realization finally jolted James upright, knocking the pen from his hand and spotting several papers with ugly black blots.

 _Backgammon._ As in _back settlements._

“Good Christ!” He snapped his head left to stare at Francis, who was currently mid-gulp of cold tea. “Did—she _frigged you in the arse?_ ”

Francis choked, spat his mouthful of tea onto the frozen floor, and coughed till he was red in the face, slumping forward in his chair.

James waited until it was clear the man was not going to choke to death before speaking again, pounding Francis on the back a few times for good measure. “I’m so sorry—thought you were actually _talking_ about cards at first, and then I couldn’t comprehend what the devil you meant by _impolite_ —”

“ _James!”_ wheezed his companion.

“What?!” gasped James. He did not remove his hand from Francis’s shoulder. “For God’s sake, man, you could have just said something outright!”

“I did!” Francis sat back up, now cradling his middle with both arms, not meeting James’s eyes. “I said _private!_ ”

“You said _backgammon!”_

“Well, what was I supposed to have done? How ought I have phrased it?”

Francis appeared rather angry, now, and so James rushed to dispel him of any unfortunate suppositions, clasping him by both shoulders now.

“Christ above, Francis! You could have said she took you in the downstairs parlor. Or that she rogered you speechless over tea and cakes. I don’t know and I don’t bloody care! We have all—I mean—there is a _reason_ men pay bawds and mollys. Or—or pay to have such base matters settled! God knows you aren’t the first Naval officer to partake in such things, and you certainly won’t be the last, no matter the records.”

Francis stared at him, agape. James was suddenly very aware of his hands on Francis’s shoulders, and how tightly he fisted the man’s shirt, and loosed his grip.

“Well. You were probably the first to—to do it in the Governor’s mansion in Van Diemen’s Land. I will grant you that liberty.”

That shy little smile had returned to Francis’s face. “It was worse than that.”

Despite himself, James laughed. “Why? Did she spirit you away to a spare bedroom? Make a meal of you on the dining table whilst the servants were at church?”

“Erm,” Francis winced, and was now blushing so furiously he was nearly purple. “First time was—was on—Sir John’s writing desk.”

“ _Goddamn,”_ gasped James, simultaneously stunned and horrified and impressed by the sheer amount of bravado it took to consummate such acts on the desk of an immediate superior. He even put a hand to his heart, like a delicate old woman. “Oh, no, _Francis._ You didn’t!”

“Mm.”

“And did—tell me he didn’t find—”

“No, no, of course not.” All at once, the tension dropped away from Francis’s shoulders. “But it was all part of the lure, I think. Adding to the forbidden. Sophia was never allowed in there after her debut. And of course he, er, didn’t approve of me in that sense, so. You see the appeal of the transgression.”

“Small wonder you never wanted to come to _Erebus_ ,” murmured James after several long seconds. “Christ. It’s a wonder you agreed to the voyage at all.”

This got him a raised eyebrow and an unamused glare.

“You will pardon such forthrightness,” James said, automatic. “Obviously I don’t intend to be rude. I am just—”

Amazed. Stupefied. Thrilled.

“—bewitched, really.”

Francis stared at him.

“I mean bedeviled,” James hastened to correct. “That your Miss Cracroft should—well, do _that_ —and encourage all your favors, and then promptly reject you. Twice.”

The back of his neck had grown very warm; quickly, he removed his jacket.

“It is beyond my reckoning,” he finished, shaking his head. “Quite beyond.”

After several seconds, Francis cleared his throat, made an apologetic gesture toward the strewn papers and spilled ink on the table. “Yes, well. We ought to, ah, clean this up as best we can. Before we turn in.”

“Right,” said James, attempting to clear the picture from his mind: Francis spread out like a banquet on Sir John’s mahogany desk, half-naked and squirming and _desperate_ for resolution, with an impish Sophia Cracroft standing above him. His mind wandered, unbidden, to the ornate desk now sitting in the Captain’s berth: once Sir John’s very own. “Yes. I’ll, ah—there’s a rag in that corner, there, if you don’t mind handing it over.”

“Ah. Well. Good,” said Francis, and did so.

They said nothing else for a quarter of an hour.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song of the same name - I like the [the Ella Fitzgerald version.](https://youtu.be/1fzZ4l2H5-w)
> 
>  _Backgammon player_ is some 1780s-era slang for "did some butt stuff", as is "invader of the back settlements". Backgammoning as a euphemism for "homosexual" was also used in the 1820s, but I figured both euphemisms might be a little before James's time, since he was born in 1813.
> 
> Also, please imagine James just going back to his berth and staring sightlessly at the desk that Once Was Sir John's and having Questions, the end. [devil emoji]


End file.
